


The Apocalypse v2.0

by Afrokot



Series: Excavation Site [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Humor, Post-Season/Series 05 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-25
Updated: 2015-01-25
Packaged: 2018-03-09 00:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3229235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afrokot/pseuds/Afrokot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after S5: Not all is well in Heaven and Hell, but Castiel has a plan.</p><p>Written in October 2010, edited in January 2015.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Apocalypse v2.0

**Author's Note:**

> The original idea isn't mine.

Dean wakes up. At first, he is unsure where he is and what has woken him. Slowly, things start to check into his sluggish mind: it's night; the mattress is soft and comfy; the clock on the opposite wall ticks too damn loudly. There is only one place in existence with a clock that awful — Lisa's guest bedroom. He blinks a couple of times, hears a quiet ruffling noise.

"Hello, Dean," a familiar low voice comes from the foot of his bed. "Dean," it repeats when he fails to respond.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm awake! What are you doing here?" he asks, reluctantly propping himself up on right elbow, and finally opens his eyes. Castiel looks normal, it seems like he hasn't changed a bit in a year that passed since their last meeting. Well, maybe he is a little tired — what with the stress of averting the Apocalypse and all, must be finally catching up. "Not that I'm not glad to see you," Dean says, "of course, I am, but why now?” He makes an attempt at waving his free hand but quickly decides he is too tired to bother. A glance at the detestable clock... “At Four a.m. Jesus fuck, Cas! What the hell? My morning shift starts at seven.” 

Face blank, Castiel says, “My apologies”, and gives his best impression of a statue, which is actually very accurate.

Still, Dean has a feeling the angel is uncomfortable, it’s just a vibe he gets. “Aren't you supposed to be the sheriff in Heaven, bossing everyone around and enjoying our victory?"

Blankness gives way to unhappiness. Castiel sighs heavily and so hopelessly, you’d think the world was ending all over again. Dean could never withstand this ‘lost puppy’ expression for long. Voice slightly less bitchy, he asks, "Hey, buddy, what's up? They didn't receive you well, did they?” At Castiel’s forlorn expression he, too, sighs and sits on the bed properly. “Hey, come here and tell me what's wrong.” Weakly, he pats the mattress, twice.

Somewhat hesitantly, Castiel obeys. He perches at the edge of the bed, a huge tan-colored bird, eyeing his knees like he expects them to desert their owner and run away with all his money any second now. He heaves another sigh. "Dean, there is something I need to tell you.” He stops, fleetingly catches Dean’s gaze. “I need your help because you are the only one who'll help me."

Dean’s gulp drowns out the sound of the clock; at least for a moment, he is free of that damned ticking. Dread pooling in the pit of his stomach, he thinks, _No-no-no. This is not good. So not good._ Aloud, he says, "What do you mean?"

"First, you have to understand our situation." Castiel waits for Dean to nod before he continues. "As you remember, angels are used to having a purpose, a duty to perform. They don't know how to act otherwise, but now, when Father came and approved 'free will policy', they all want to live for themselves."

"Most of your siblings are dicks."

"Yes." Castiel paused. For a moment the aura of heavy sadness materialized around him like a second trench coat. Then it dissipated. Voice grave and forceful, he says, "Hundreds of mighty beings without any force to control them, with no love or respect for humanity, free to do as they please for the first time in millennia. Can you imagine what it entails? Before you ask, no, they won't listen to me. Because of 'free will', of course." 

His scoff makes Dean inexplicably proud.

"They already called me a hypocrite when I tried to organize some kind of heavenly hierarchy." 

_If he weren't an angel and, therefore, didn’t have a constitutional aversion to emotional outbursts,_ Dean thinks, _he'd be restraining tears by now._

"And demons? Before, they had a common goal: free Lucifer, create hell on Earth. Now they also don't have any purpose, and Crowley can't convince them to fall under his leadership. We have anarchy above and below the Earth. And where do you think all of them choose to go?"

Realization hits Dean with a force of a well-aimed cannonball. "Oh, fucking hell."

"No, not exactly. Hell is a rather unpopular place at the moment."

"Ok." Dean rubs his face with both palms. "Ok, got it. What does it mean for us? Us as in team 'Free Will' and other hunters, not humanity in general."

Castiel's determination feels like a third entity in the room. "I already thought of everything." Looking a little wild, he just about scares Dean with the weight of his stare. "We have a plan. Crowley will conclude the contract: this time, there will be no unnecessary human sacrifices; you will get your brother back." Unholy light in his eyes adding fuel to the already blazing bonfire of Dean's worry, Castiel says, "Dean, we must start another Apocalypse!"


End file.
